


Would You Give A Guy A Foot Massage?

by orphan_account



Category: Pulp Fiction (1994)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gay, Hotel Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29095098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Vincent coerces Jules into letting him suck his cock. Straightforward, really. No feet.
Relationships: Vincent Vega/Jules Winnfield
Kudos: 3





	Would You Give A Guy A Foot Massage?

“Hey, Jules.”

In spite of the crooning, Jules’ eyelids are pretty damn adamant about staying closed. 

“Jules.”

This one’s a bit closer to the ear, it furrowed a brow, but nothing more.

“Jesus Christ, your cock’s hard as goddamn shit, Jules.”

This propelled Jules upright immediately, though his head’s still steeped in the sweet sicken of sleep. He stays upright for a while, hacking up a few curses and rubbing his eyes. And then he feels something grasping at his crotch besides the obvious swelling.

“Jules...y’got a fuckin’ hard-on!” Vincent says it with as much silent glee as a fucking as one heorin junkie could muster. 

This knocks Jules right out of sleep. “...The fuck you think you doing, you workin’ for the sperm banks now?” 

Vincent dragged out a silence, lightly chuckled while shaking his head and went, “Nah, but I know an erection when I see one.”

“Nigga, I dearly suggest you get back to sleep in your own goddamn bed before you start sleeping six feet underground.” 

It seemed as if Vincent actually stopped to consider the offer. Jules started walking towards the hotel’s musty bathroom that happened to be the twain’s Topic O’ The Hour a few hours back, until he hears, “No man, c’mon.”

Jules turned a bit. “The fuck you mean, c’mon?”  
“...You...You’re just gonna waste your sperm like that? C’mon man.”  
“Where the fuck else am I puttin’ it to?”

Vincent rolled on his stomach and kicked up his legs like a French girl on slick. “...I dunno.”  
“...Hell fuckin’ no.”  
“Who else’s gonna take care of it? Marsellus isn’t gonna let us call in a prostitute.”  
“Don’t need one.” These words get the privilege of the bathroom’s only virtue—its decent acoustics.  
“And I don’t think your...girlfriend’s gonna drop from the ceiling with her tits out, either.”  
“I think my right hand’ll do just fine, motherfucker.”  
“I mean, suit yourself, tough guy, but if you ask my opinion, I think a mouth’s better than a hand.”

Preoccupied with picking his fingers, Vincent didn’t realize that was all the persuasion Jules needed. He looked up. 

“You ain’t telling anyone shit about this.” 

Jules stood at the side of the bed, dick out, towering over Vincent.

A smile spread over Vincent’s face. “Well, alright, cowboy.”

The first priority for Vincent happened to be the glans. He twisted his tongue around it while stroking the rest, waiting for a moan, a groan, something from Jules to suggest he was doing great. Nevermind that, he’ll see.

His mouth had dragged around the tip for just about enough, so with an unspoken prayer, he decided to deepthroat the whole thing. Well, for one, Vincent was reminded of his gag reflex, but for another, Jules seemed to be enjoying it a lot, finally moaning and all. His grasp kept Vincent at that same spot for a while, and when Vincent pulled out, a great deal of spit chased after, trickling down his throat. Of course, you wouldn’t be wrong filing him as a junkie if you saw his face outside, but right now, he’s on a different high entirely.

“Goddamn,” Jules breathed. “...The fuck taught you how to do that?”  
Looking up with his teeth digging at his bottom lip, Vincent could only offer up a giggle.

Vincent continued, head bobbing up and down like a seasoned pornstar. He relished any noise he could get out of Jules as he could tell Jules was trying to stave off of that. But at some point, both Jules and Vincent aren’t able to control themselves. Jules thrusted into Vincent’s throat like the world was about to end, hacking up curses and praises and when he wasn’t, Vincent’s tongue played with the idea of doing flips and tricks. Failed and futile for the most part, but Jules appreciated the gesture.

For a moment, the growing heat in his mouth didn’t key him in on why Jules was thrusting harder than usual, but then the spunk spilled in and spilled down his throat. Needless to say, he swallowed it all.

He pulled away, but not without taking in the sight of Jules’ dick and looking right up at him with that same sex-sick gaze, now complete with a smirk. “Now, how’s about that, Jules?”

“Shit, Vincent.” Jules shook his head and headed for the bathroom. “You get to sleep on that bed, now that’s for keepin’ that motherfucking bed clean.”  
“And not for the blowjob?”  
“Shut the fuck up. I’m gonna cleanse my dick of any DNA evidence and catch some shut-eye.”  
“Alright, then.”


End file.
